


High School AU

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Gen, High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-25 19:51:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4973869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first Anthony, a troubled student failing his classes, wants nothing to do with his assigned peer mentor, a goody-two-shoes honor student named Ezra Fell, but soon he begins having a change of heart</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peer Mentor

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/130040358975/a-dumb-high-school-au-where-crowley-is-the-kid

Ezra Fell was an honors student, treasurer of his school’s chapter of NSHSS, a strong candidate for valedictorian, an active member of every club imaginable and every honor society and every scholarship-worthy activity.  He was also a peer tutor.  This will become relevant in a minute.

Anthony Crowley was well on the track to being a dropout.  He skipped class.  He got into fights.  Frequently.  He smoked behind the building after school.*  He barely got D’s.

* * *

*He _told_  everyone he went behind the school to smoke.  What he was really doing was reading comic books, but one has to maintain one’s image.

* * *

This was a problem for the school, who, like many institutions of higher learning, prioritized education above all else** and did not like hooligans like Anthony sullying their institution and reputation.  However, nothing stained their image quite like dropouts, and the powers-that-be were aware that a good, inspirational story about helping students with special needs was something that tugged at people’s heartstrings.***

* * *

**Students are included in this _all else._

 _***_ And purse strings.

* * *

This is why they had their peer tutoring program, in the hopes that good students could work with bad ones and help them achieve their goals–or at least rub off on them a bit.

Ezra walked in to his first day as a peer tutor, a baby-faced sophomore with far more credits than was appropriate for someone his age, and confided with the teacher for a moment before being directed to his charge.  Anthony was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, chewing gum loudly, and pointedly not looking at the teacher.  It would have been obvious to anyone else that he was trying too hard to be cool and aloof, but Ezra found it intimidating.  However, the other problem students in the room–Hastur and Ligur, the ones Crowley had gotten into a fistfight with to earn him this detention–were much bigger and meaner looking, so he did not go back to the teacher and request reassignment.

“Hello,” said Ezra, seating himself at a desk near Anthony.

“Hm?” said Anthony, as if just noticing him for the first time.  


“I’m your peer mentor.”  


“I don’t need a mentor.  Bugger off.”  


Ezra tightened his grip around his notebooks, wondering if this was really worth any amount of extra credit.  “No, I’ve been given a job and I intend to do it.”

“Gonna tutor me, then?  Gonna make me into a preppy honor student like you?”  


Embarrassment flared on Ezra’s face.  “Well, I’d consider it a job well done if we could just get your grades up.”

Anger flashed across Anthony’s features.  “My grades are none of your business,” he hissed.

“But they are,” he said.  “That’s why I’m here.  I’m supposed to help you with your classwork.”

Ezra did not make any progress for the entire period, and when the bell rang, Anthony bolted from the room without a glance backwards at his assigned companion.

* * *

“I told you, go away.”  


“No,” said Ezra, his nostrils flaring, setting his notebook directly on top of Anthony’s belongings.  “This is a study hall.  You’re supposed to study.  And I’m supposed to help you study.”  


Anthony rolled his strange yellow eyes.  “Fine, go ahead then, if it’ll get you to shut up.”

“What subject would you like to start with?”

It took some finessing, but Ezra was able to finagle Anthony’s schedule and class notes off of the deviant.

“These are atrocious,” he said, splaying the notes out.  “I can barely read them.  Your penmanship needs work.”  


“My penmanship is the least of my worries,” said Anthony, bitterly.  


Ezra was unsure how to respond to that, so he simply went on, after a moment’s hesitation, “We can work on your method of note-taking during class.  I’m sure that would help tremendously.”

Ezra showed him how his own notes were arranged, and Anthony verbally acknowledged yes, your penmanship is better, yes, the way yours are organized is better, yes, obviously your notes are better, obviously one could pass much easier if they took notes like yours, what a perfect angel you are–

* * *

They proceeded in this manner for the first semester, with Anthony tolerating Ezra’s presence only because he was required too, and Ezra forcing himself into Anthony’s presence only because he had a job to do, and Anthony was the least deviant-looking of the deviants.

Ezra caught Anthony behind the school one day, because he had tried to follow him home to remind him about his homework, and the dark-haired boy had slipped away from the school buses and disappeared, and Ezra immediately knew that he was doing something illicit.

He peered around the corner, fearing what he might see, and fearing physical injury as retribution for seeing it.  What he saw was Anthony huddled against the side of the building with a book propped open on his lap.

“What are you reading?” said Ezra as he approached, and he got a glimpse of illustrations before Anthony snapped it shut, and stood with his back against the wall.  


“Nothing,” he snarled.  


“Let me see.”  


“Don’t touch me.”  


The fact that Ezra had been intimidated by Anthony might imply that Anthony was the bigger of the two, but in fact the opposite was true,**** and Ezra had gotten more and more bold in their interactions as he learned that Anthony would not bite him, so he actually wrestled the book off of him.  It never occurred to him that this might be bullying even though he was much bigger than the actually quite shrimpy Anthony, because Ezra was a Nice Boy and therefore nothing he did could be bullying, and Anthony was a rebel and a punk and would be the one doing the bullying, if it had to be one of them, he was sure.

* * *

****Ezra just _really_  got nervous about interacting with people who did not Follow the Rules.

* * *

“What’s this?” said Ezra, flipping through a few pages of the book.  


Anthony’s grip tightened on the strap of his messenger bag.  His face was growing red.  “It’s manga.”

“I’m not sure this appropriate to have at school,” he said, noting the amount of gore in the illustrations.  


“Give it back.”  This as he held out his hand.

Ezra plopped the book into it, and it disappeared into Anthony’s bag instantly.  “You might get that taken off of you if you bring it to school,” said Ezra.

“I know,” he said, and the two just stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to say.  


“You could just read it at home,” Ezra offered.  


“I’m not allowed to have it at home.”  


Ezra blinked.  For some reason the thought of Anthony’s parents had never crossed his mind.  He supposed, if he had really thought about it, he would have guessed he didn’t have any, based on his behavior.  “Why not?” was what he eventually said.

“Who honestly knows,” he muttered, skulking away.  “Nothing I do there is good enough anyway.”  


* * *

Ezra looked up the name of the series Anthony had been reading, and was surprised at the intellectual nature of it despite the adult-oriented content.  He tried to engage the other boy in a discussion about it, but he shrunk down in his seat and muttered an unenthusiastic agreement about anything he said.

Report cards came in.  Ezra made them compare.  Ezra had gotten all A’s–to no one’s surprise.*  Anthony had gotten straight C’s.

* * *

*Except, perhaps his own, and then it was very fake and merely a painful attempt at modesty.

* * *

“I’ve gotten worse,” he said, and amazingly, he did not sound like he was trying to be ironic.  


Ezra dared to pat him on the back.  “It’s a good start.  We can get them up, I just know it.  You just need to apply yourself.  You can do it if you just make sure to get all your homework done.”

He could see Anthony trying to hide a smile, he was sure of it.  The expression was gone the next day, when Anthony came in with a black eye.

He claimed he had gotten into a fight again.  But Ezra checked with the usual culprits he got into fights with and none of them were injured–and he knew Anthony always put up a fight.  Besides, he had seen Anthony part of the way home last night, and there hadn’t been any opportunity for him to meet anyone from school, unless he had gone out again, and he didn’t think he had.

That only left–

Oh no.

This time in study hall, he set his books down, and just looked at Anthony, who got progressively more uncomfortable until he burst out, “ _What?_ ”

“Anthony, who hit you?”  


His tone implied that he knew, especially since report cards had just come out, and was sorry, and Anthony snarled, “I don’t need your pity,” with clearly fabricated bravado.

“Okay, then,” said Ezra, taking his seat, and patting Anthony’s hand.  “Why don’t we try to focus on getting your grades up, then?”  


“It won’t matter,” he said, full of venom.  


“I don’t know,” he said.  “I mean…Aren’t they mad at your for your grades?  Wouldn’t getting them up…”  


“I can’t get them up,” he said, through gritted teeth.  


“I know you can,” said Ezra.  “You’re not stupid, Anthony.  What if you-”  


“Just shut _up_ ,” he said, and Ezra was met with angry silence for the rest of the period.

* * *

Something miraculous happened, then.  Anthony did his homework.  He showed it to Ezra, and Ezra checked it, and he had gotten it mostly right, and Anthony listened to his corrections.  Anthony was not asleep in class.  Anthony had improved his penmanship and was taking notes.  Anthony still read comics, but used them as a reward for when he got his homework done.

Ezra began to wonder if anyone had ever told him they believed he could get his grades up and that he was not stupid, if this is what happened when someone did.

Then, something even more miraculous: Straight B’s, except for one A.

Ezra actually worked up the courage to give Anthony a hug, and Anthony worked up the magnanimity to let him without snarky comment.

Then: Another black eye.

Ezra found him behind the school, in the place where he had first been caught reading manga, hugging his knees to his chest.  Ezra slid down next to him.  “I thought…”

“He ignored my report card.  He just found something else to get mad about.”  


“Anthony…”  Ezra had a very good relationship with his own father, and could not imagine a paternal relationship being otherwise, and had assumed it must be Anthony’s fault, and that if he could just help Anthony be _better_  it would stop, and he was just now coming to the realization that, perhaps, an authority figure could be in the wrong.

“Nothing I do is ever good enough,” he said, desperation mounting in his voice, which was muffled as he pushed it down into the crook of his knees, and Ezra did not know what to say.  


* * *

Anthony did not show up for class.  Sometimes he did not show up for school at all, with no excuse offered.  Sometimes he got in trouble, sometimes he did not, sometimes he had obvious bruises, sometimes he did not.

And one day, a few days after report cards came out again, he finally found Anthony in the back of the school again.

“Where have you been?”  


“I got kicked out.”  


“Of class?”

“Of my house.”  


Ezra put his hand on Anthony’s hair.  “When?”

“A few days ago.  I’ve been sneaking back in after hours and sleeping in the teacher’s lounge.”  Ezra could tell.  


“Anthony, I-”  He stopped as Anthony suddenly sprung to his feet and buried his face in Ezra’s chest.  


“He said he didn’t raise me like this,” he sobbed.  “He said there was something wrong with me, that it was my fault, that he didn’t want to see me again, that I could rot in Hell for all he cared…”

“I…”  


“He acts like he’s some sort of god, Ezra, like I’m some toy he can toss aside when I don’t act like he wants, when he _made_  me this way…”  


Ezra’s arms came around him and squeezed him until he hiccuped.  “You don’t have to sleep here tonight.  Come on.”

* * *

Ezra had never sprung anything like this on his parents before, because he was the type of boy who planned ahead and asked permission.  But they forgave him this one time, since it was his first offense and everything.

Ezra’s house was clean and quiet, and his parents were kind to each other and to him and to Anthony, which amazed him most of all.  And he had a guest bedroom, which they let him use after he got a shower.  Anthony had always had to share a room with his demonic younger siblings, and in the quiet of the night he could hear every floorboard creak and every spare item in the air vents rattle in the big empty room, and it was somehow worse than sleeping in the school where he was not supposed to be.

He found himself peering at Ezra’s room through a crack in his door, at the big bed with plenty of room for two people, even when one of them was Ezra’s size, and he dared to slither to a place where he was not supposed to be, into the bed as quietly as he could, and wiggle into Ezra’s limp arms without waking him.

Well, Anthony at least thought he had not woken him.  Ezra’s eyes were open as slits in the faint moonlight, and he saw Anthony do this, and he let him, and after Anthony had fallen asleep he wrapped his arms more tightly around him, and gave him a gentle nuzzle on the forehead, and whispered that he was good enough.  



	2. The Cellar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This story contains elements of domestic abuse and a few instances of strong homophobic language.
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/130247133505/so-there-was-significant-interest-in-more-of-the

“Ezra, are you sure?”  


It was a nice day out; there was a light breeze rustling the leaves of the trees as traffic passed them by.  Anthony was sitting on the lawn, ripping grass up and shredding it methodically; Ezra could just see the small pile of clippings he was making in the light of the setting sun.

“Am I sure of what, my dear?”  


“Me...you know, staying here,” he answered, still not meeting Ezra’s eyes.

“My parents-”  


“How much did you tell them?”  


“Enough.  They said it was fine.  They said you could stay as long as you need to.  We’re not using that bedroom.”  


Anthony still looked uneasy.  “But are you sure they...”

“They what?”  


He shook his head.  “Never mind.  All right, then.  I’m going to go back to my house and get some of my things.”

“But you...you were kicked out, weren’t you?  Are you sure going back there is a good idea?”  There was concern visible on Ezra’s face, even in the growing darkness.

Anthony stood, stretching his limbs.  “I’ll go when everyone’s asleep.  I’ll be in and out quickly.”

Ezra stood also.  “Let me come with you.”

“No,” said Anthony with embarrassing quickness.  “Er...”  


“Anthony.”

“You...well, you’re very loud and you might wake them up....”  


“Anthony.”  He fixed his smaller companion with a hard glare.  “You _are_  going to come back, right?”  


Anthony’s strange yellow eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness.  “Of course.”

Ezra was unable to tell when people were lying, and Anthony was a very good liar, and as Anthony’s dark figure disappeared into the shadows beyond the streetlights he had no small amount of uncertainty about when the next time they would meet would be.

* * *

Anthony did not return that night.  Ezra stayed up significantly past his bedtime* waiting for him.  


* * *

*Ezra was well past the age at which one’s parents set a bedtime for them, but he was the kind of boy who had his own bedtime regardless of whether or not an authority figure advised it.

* * *

He looked at the clock.  He changed into his pajamas, sat on the couch, flipped through the TV channels.  Looked at the clock.  Got out the next night’s homework, set it on the table, let his eyes move over it in an unfocused manner.  Looked at the clock.  Changed out of his pajamas, got a bath with the door open so he could hear any knock on the door, changed back into his pajamas.  Looked at the clock.

He gave up a few hours before school started, going over in his mind the harsh words he would say to Anthony before class.

Anthony was not lounging by the lockers waiting for the first bell to ring like he usually was.  He was not loitering in the bathroom either.  Ezra’s anger deflated.  Surely Anthony was going to be at lunch, then, with that wicked smile of his, saying, _Haha, sorry I missed you, something came up--this totally innocent thing I have a good explanation for!  I didn’t ditch you, and I’m okay._

His lunch table was empty.   _Anthony, we’re not just--study buddies anymore!  You can’t just...I need..._  

Ezra held out his hands, and remembered what it felt like to be holding Anthony in them as he fell asleep, and could not figure out how to finish that sentence.

Surely Anthony would not have just left him?  He _had_ to show back up eventually.  But he could not suppress the twinge of doubt, the memory of Anthony’s face being a blank mask that may or may not be hiding a lie.

That night he did his homework in the living room by the front door; his parents bade him good night as they ascended the stairs, telling him he ought not to stay up too late, and he said good night to them too, and then put his homework away, and stayed up until he had visible bags under his eyes, waiting for someone to show up at the door.

* * *

Hell was supposed to be hot, he thought.  But it was cold down here.  It was dark, though; that part had been right.  It was so, so dark, and there was no use in screaming, because his father had put him somewhere where he could not be heard begging for mercy.  


* * *

Ezra did not know what to do.  Anthony had failed to show up for school a second time.  This had, of course, happened before, but since Ezra had been pressuring him to get his grades up missing school two days in a row was almost unheard of, and especially not after their conversation...

Ezra sat at the lunch table, ignoring his friends’ attempts to engage him in conversation.  All he could think about how was infrequently Anthony ate lunch, and how he probably wasn’t getting enough to eat, and how he--he needed to make sure Anthony was eating lunch.  It was lunch time, and Anthony probably wasn’t eating.  Where _was_ he?

This was a pivotal point for Ezra, because as he sat there tuning out his friend’s nattering about Science Olympiad, his thoughts became consumed with getting to Anthony, somehow, because he needed to make sure he ate lunch, and he resolved, for the first time ever, to Break the Rules.

Ezra had never broken a rule in his whole life, at least not purposefully.  The rules were there for a reason, he thought, and people who break them deserve to be punished.  Well, he had seen someone getting punished all right, and he had seen the person in charge being wrong, and now he knew that rules.... 

Well, they could be broken, if the ones making them had their heads up their arses.

He drew himself up from the table.

“Where are you going?” said his companion.  


“The bathroom,” said Ezra, committing his first lie.  


He lumbered out the door and made his first offense of moving through the hallways without a hall pass.  He did not know where Anthony lived, but he knew who did.

He opened the door to the main office, and put on his best innocent smile.

“Hello, Patty,” he said, greeting the secretary, and leaning on her desk politely.  


“Hello, Ezra,” she said.  “How are things going?”  


“Good, good.  But listen, you know the peer mentors program?”  


“Of course!  I’ve heard your partner is making good progress.”  


“He is, he is.  But listen, we have a big test tomorrow, and we were going to study together tonight at his house, but he didn’t come to school today--I think he’s sick, he felt bad last I saw him--and he’s never told me where he lives.”  Ezra was amazed at the ease with which this string of lies rolled off his tongue.  “Do you think you could give me his address?”  


A few computer keyboard clicks later, and Ezra was walking out of the main office with a slip of paper in his hand with an address written on it.

“Ezra,” said a teacher as he passed by, “Where are you going?”  


He noted the teacher did not ask for his hall pass; sometimes just being who he was was enough that others would not believe he was breaking the rules.  He waved the paper quick enough that the teacher could not read it, and kept walking.  “I have a dentist appointment, sorry, I’m already running late, you can check with the office.”

“Oh--all right then!  Good luck with that!”  


He strode out the front door--no one stood in your way if you acted like you were going where you were supposed to be going, especially if you were Ezra Fell, treasurer of the NSHSS, strong candidate for valedictorian--

Peer mentor.

Anthony’s house was a good fifteen minute’s walk away; he could barely hear the cars on the road over his own heavy breathing, which was increasing because he was getting angrier and angrier with each step.

It was cold.  He hadn’t brought a jacket.  But he hardly noticed.

He stopped in front of the house demarcated by the address on the paper; it was an ugly thing, covered in peeling white paint, with broken toys scattered across the lawn.  It was a day of firsts for Ezra, and he felt ready to use his physical bulk for something other than helping move furniture for the first time.

He crumpled up the paper and shoved it in his pocket, clenched his fists, walked up the stairs.  Knocked politely on the door.

A man answered, and Ezra was pleased to note he was not much taller than himself.  Ezra drew himself up and said, primly, “I’m looking for Anthony.”

“He ain’t here,” said the man, chewing on something--tobacco, he thought.  “I kicked his ass out days ago.”  


Ezra would not let go of the anger he had accumulated on the walk over.  “Oh.  Really.  I see, then.  I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I came in and got a few of his things, then, would you?”

Mr. Crowley--for indeed, that’s who it was--narrowed his eyes at him.  “Why’re you--”

But Ezra had already pushed past him to enter the house.  Anthony’s father gave an exclamation of anger and followed him.

There were two sad-looking children on the floor watching TV; he passed them, saw an open door, with the trimmings of a bedroom beyond.  He pushed the door open and took in the sight on the bed:  A duffel bag, half open and overflowing with clothes clearly recognizable as Anthony’s.

He had been in the process of packing. 

Ezra whirled around just as Mr. Crowley reached him, aware of the anger flaring on his face.  “You haven’t seen him, huh?”

“What the hell are you on about?”  


“That was nearly two days ago!”  


Mr. Crowley’s face registered brief fear, and Ezra knew he had hit the truth.  “What did you _do_  with him?”

“None of your damn business,” he snarled.  “He’s _my_ kid.  Why do you care, anyway?”  


“ _What_  did you do to him?”  


“Are you fucking deaf, kid?  I just fucking told you, he’s _my_  kid, and I can punish him when he deserves it.”  


Ezra’s face tightened.  He pushed past Mr. Crowley, walking more slowly this time, looking at the doors in the house, as Mr. Crowley walked behind him and shouted in his ear.

“What’s the matter, you finally found someone willing to suck your cock and are finally itching to get off again, you fucking faggot?  I know he’d do something like that, suck some faggot’s dick-”  


Ezra felt a hand on his shoulder, and he heard himself say, with menace that surprised even himself, “If you touch me, there will be legal consequences.”

And here was something Mr. Crowley had never been faced with before: Someone in his way whom there would be consequences for harming.  If Anthony was a stray, then Ezra was a purebred groomed for a show, and people would notice if he went missing or showed up with his coat out of order.

The hand disappeared.

Ezra noted there was a basement, but the door was open, and there did not appear to be any crawlspaces or offshoots or anything where someone could be hidden.  Mr. Crowley was noticeably much quieter, but he still radiated aggression as he stuck behind Ezra.

Ezra completed his pass though the house, returned to Anthony’s room, still holding that anger in his chest.  He looked up at Mr. Crowley.  “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I took these?”  And he held that eye contact as he stuffed what remained of the clothes on the bed into the duffel, and slung it over his shoulder, and walked out.

The door slammed and locked behind him as he stepped out onto the porch.  He stared at the lawn, suddenly feeling deflated.  If he just knew _where..._

He stepped of the porch and circled the house.  And that’s when he saw it: A rusty metal cellar door sunk into the ground at the back of the house, away from the street and the path of anyone passing by.  A heavy padlock kept the handles together.

He stared at it for a moment, appalling thoughts racing through his mind, his anger building once more.  He circled the house again, predatory, like a shark, but could not find a key, nor anything that could help him.

Surely, _surely_  he couldn’t be in _there_?  Surely not even someone as horrible as that man would lock someone else in a cellar for two days--

 _Fuck this,_ was Ezra’s thought, and he took off back towards his own house.  It was a ten minute walk, and the hand with which he was holding the duffel was being bitten by the cold, and he was muttering a string of curse words under his breath, the chain growing longer and longer with each step he took.

Lunch was well over by now.  He would have to feed Anthony dinner when he finally got ahold of that stupid boy.

He threw the duffel on the porch, went to the tool shed behind the house, reemerged with a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters.  Ten minutes back, this time with the cold metal burning his hand.  He went immediately to the back of the house, put one foot on the metal cellar door, leaned into it and snapped the lock off with the bolt cutters.

He flung the doors open and saw a pair of yellow eyes peering at him from the darkness.  Anthony hunched on the dirt floor like an emaciated animal, his pupils contracted to pinpoints at the sudden presence of light.

Ezra was afraid to go in; he told himself it was because he didn’t want the door to shut behind him and lock him in, but it was really because it was dark, and scary, and horrible, and he knew he did not belong down there.  So he held out his hand, and said, “Anthony.”

The yellow eyes blinked at him.  Then Anthony wobbly got to his feet and managed to grab Ezra’s hand.  The bigger boy pulled him out, set him on the grass, and had to immediately catch him as his knees buckled out from under him.

Anthony gave a small whine.  “Sh,” said Ezra.  “Come on.”

He was practically dragging him the whole way back to his house.  He calculated that he would have been in AP Physics by now, and that his parents would be home in about three hours.  Anthony was shivering violently, but Ezra did not have a jacket, and once the smaller boy tried to speak but only a brittle squeak came out.  The anger was returning to Ezra, but now it had no outlet, so he forced himself to let go of it.

The house was dark and quiet; their feet made muffled _thumps_  on the plush carpet.  Ezra sat Anthony down on the couch, pulled a blanket off the chair, wrapped him in it, and pulled him onto his lap.

It took a few minutes for the shaking to stop; Anthony’s face stayed buried in Ezra’s chest.  After another minute it started up again, this time in silent, tearless sobs.  Ezra rubbed his back.

Anthony suddenly turned his face up, looking directly at him with sunken eyes, and he was about to say something when Anthony leaned forwards and pressed his lips against his own.  Ezra felt something electric surge in his chest, and his heartbeats sputtered all over the place as thoughts he had never considered before crashed through his mind like a train wreck.

The warm pressure on his lips disappeared, and Anthony swallowed, putting his head back down.  Ezra would have been horrified to know that Anthony had half-expected to be struck for what he had just done, but Ezra simply sat there, thinking a million different things at once.

“Ezra,” said a very small, hoarse voice, jerking him back to reality.  


“Yes, my dear?”  


“Can I please... have some water?”  


“Oh--Oh!  Of course!”  Ezra flushed with embarrassment that he hadn’t thought of it.  He had been so focused on trying to get Crowley to stop shivering.  He left him on the couch and went to the kitchen.  


He heard feet pattering into the kitchen behind him unsteadily as he filled a glass, and turned to see Anthony standing in the doorway, his eyes on the floor, unfocused.  He had started shivering again.

Ezra made him sit down, put the glass of water in his hand, and went to his room, returning a moment later with a pair of socks and a hoodie.  The socks were thermal and fuzzy and slipped onto Anthony’s feet without much resistance; he pulled the hoodie over Anthony’s head only after a small fuss was kicked up about _someone_ putting his arms above his head.  It was one of Ezra’s own hoodies, so it hung much too loosely on his malnourished frame, but it meant he could fold the ends of the sleeves over his hands to keep them warm.

Anthony had finished his glass of water, so Ezra refilled it and gave it back to him.  He made him drink a glass of juice next, and the first thing he did after he was hydrated enough to have gotten his voice back was to try to make a lame joke, which was incoherent, but Ezra gave him a courtesy laugh anyway and shook his head and said, “Oh, you’re right.” 

By then it was dinner time, and this was the one rule Ezra did not break that day:  He made sure he and Anthony got dinner at dinner time.


	3. Don't Go Disappearing On Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/131057468665/starsandblackeyes-and-parasolsandpoppies-might-be

“Ezra!”

Anthony cried out involuntarily, and only afterwards realized he had done so.  He drew the covers more closely around himself, feeling foolish even as he heard Ezra’s footsteps approaching the door.

The door cracked open, and the light flicked on, blinding him—but _oh,_ that precious light.

“Anthony, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I—er—I…”  He swallowed, and lied, “Nothing.  I’m sorry, I just thought I saw something …”

Ezra let out a breath. “So are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’ll see you in six hours when we get ready for school, then.”

Ezra flicked the switch, and Anthony was plunged back into darkness as the door to the guest bedroom slid shut.  He settled himself back into bed and pulled the covers over his head.

_I don’t need a night light,_ he told himself.   _That’s ridiculous.  I’m almost an adult.  I’m not afraid of the dark.  I’m not._

He could hear the rain pattering quietly against the window, and he could not bring himself to close his eyes, so he lay there, his pupils dilated as far as they would open in the darkness.  Trying not to picture the bed under him as a dirt floor, trying not to see the ceiling as a padlocked steel door, trying to remember that if he was cold he could just put on a sweater now, that if he was thirsty he could just go to the kitchen…

It did not quite work, and it felt like something was pressing down on his chest, making breathing difficult, and he barely suppressed the urge to call Ezra’s name again.

Breathing more heavily now, he flung the covers back, scurried to the other side of the room, and switched the light on.  It stung his eyes as they adjusted.

This was absurd.  He was exhausted.  He had hardly slept at all even though Ezra’s parents had been nice enough to let him use their guest bed for almost a week now.  He had not worked up the courage to slip back into Ezra’s room, not after that first night when he had done so while Ezra was sleeping. He had managed to slink back out before Ezra woke up, because Ezra’s parents were religious, and he was sure they would not approve, and if he got caught lying with Ezra he knew something terrible would happen, and he would lose the person who had recently become of paramount importance in his life.

But he was exhausted. Ezra’s arms were the only thing he could think of.

He tiptoed out of the guest bedroom, half-arguing with himself to try and sleep with the light on, hovering outside Ezra’s bedroom door.  He watched like a stalking predator in the shadows, looking at the huge lump on Ezra’s bed, a faint shape in the darkness broken only by the blazing light of his digital clock that shined _12:34_ in the void of his room.

Anthony gave a small, tired whine and crept forwards, slithering up onto Ezra’s bed and wiggling in next to him, trying to move as little as possible, afraid to get too close but _oh_ was he warm.  A feeling of security was filling him as he dug in next to the larger boy.  He assured himself he could wake up before Ezra and get back to the guest bedroom without anyone finding out, unaware that Ezra was actually much more awake than he seemed, and believing that Ezra’s motion of drawing him closer was an unconscious reaction.

* * *

“Where’s your friend, Ezra?” 

Ezra looked up from the sink, where he was elbow-deep in a load of dishes.  “I’m not sure, Mom.  I didn’t think he had any plans for this weekend…”

Mrs. Fell puckered her lips at herself in the mirror as she refreshed her lipstick.  “Well, if you see him, you can tell him we’re having dinner around 7 today, okay?”  She kissed him on the top of the head* before disappearing out the door.

* * *

*Which would be an impressive feat for anyone other than one of the people who had given Ezra the genes that made him as tall as he was.

* * *

Ezra flopped the wet dish gloves onto the counter, feeling troubled.  Anthony had a tendency to disappear, and Ezra could never tell when it was appropriate to start panicking, especially after what had happened the last time he hadn’t shown up.  He always came back in time for meals or bed, though, so there wasn’t really anything to worry about, he told himself.  Nothing to worry about.

He guessed that _worry_ wasn’t really the right word, though.  He had thought… Well, he had figured Anthony would want to stay around, wouldn’t he?  It hurt a little.

It was still fairly early, so Ezra decided he should go for a little walk and see if he could find him. His “little” walk ended up turning into more of a frustrated stomp 3 hours long, until he saw a figure sitting in the grass by the river, tearing up grass and fingering it idly.

“Anthony?” said Ezra, coming up behind him, huffing.  “What are you doing out here?  It’s Saturday, so I thought we might spend the day together, but you disappeared this morning…”

Anthony looked a little shamefaced.  “I, erm…Just wanted to get out of the house, I suppose…”

Ezra had never been one to “get out of the house” for the sake of being outdoors, so the concept seemed foreign to him and he interpreted it as a flimsy excuse.**  “Anthony, why don’t you want to be around the house during the day?  You wander off so much, and I never know when you’re going to come back.”

**It was, in fact, even though the train of logic that brought Ezra to this conclusion was completely erroneous.

Anthony looked down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. I just don’t like hanging around. It’s asking for trouble.”

Ezra stared at Anthony and realized he must have gotten into the habit of making himself scarce as a defense mechanism.  He sighed and sat down on the grass.  “I thought it might have had something to do with…you know, how you kissed me.”

Anthony tensed up. “Oh, that…”

“I thought, maybe, you were embarrassed to stay around me after doing that…”

“You can forget about that,” said Anthony weakly.  “I didn’t mean anything by it.  I was delirious from dehydration.  I would have kissed anything you put in front of me at that point.”

Ezra let his shoulders fall slack.  “Oh. Well, I…”

They sat in silence for a moment.  Anthony just desperately wanted to not be told he was disgusting for once, and willed Ezra to just forget it.

Ezra plodded forwards cautiously.  “Well I brought it up because if you were interested…”

He looked up sharply. “If I was interested….in what, Ezra?”

“I don’t know,” said Ezra. “If you wanted to do it again, maybe, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Wh….Are you _serious?_ ”

Ezra crossed his arms, looking frazzled.  “Well, we don’t _have_ to, it was just an idea. I _thought_ you might have feelings for me, what with how you keep sneaking into my bedroom-”

“You were awake for that?” said Anthony, mortified. 

Ezra made a visible effort to regain his composure, then smiled purposefully.  “Yeah.  But it’s all right.  I know h-”

He was cut off as Anthony practically flung himself across the grass at Ezra, their lips colliding, the smaller boy’s arms wrapping around his shoulders.  Ezra almost toppled backwards as Anthony inserted himself on top of him, then let his hands fall to wrap around Anthony’s waist. 

“Anthony, I…” said Ezra after they had broken off, trying to think of the right thing to say.  “I… Well, I care about you, all right? You’re important to me.  So don’t go disappearing on me, okay?”

Anthony had never felt important to anyone in his entire life, and this had a greater effect on him than any drug he could have possibly taken.


	4. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony finds out what happens when he misbehaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/132186369345/sometimes-when-i-need-to-be-studying-the-bus

“Will you help me with these?  I’d like to finish them before Mom and Dad get  
home.”

Anthony sidled up beside Ezra, who was scrubbing a load of dishes.  He took a towel from the rack and began to dry them as they came out of the sink.

“Ezra?” said Anthony, half-heartedly rubbing the last plate.

There was a gurgling sound as the water swirled down the drain.  Ezra wiggled out his rubber gloves, then leaned in towards the smaller boy, pressing their foreheads together, and placed his hands over Anthony’s on the plate.  “Yes, my dear?”

Anthony was still getting used to this.  “I—Well, I was thinking—wondering—would you like to—hold hands, perhaps?  When we’re together at school, I mean…  But it’s okay if you don’t want to.”

Ezra tugged the towel out of Anthony’s hand.  “I would like that.”

Anthony beamed, setting the dish on the counter.  Then he gave an exclamation of surprise as he felt the towel whip against his belly.  “Ah!”

Ezra smile and snorted, and whipped the towel at him again.  Anthony lashed out to try and catch it, but was not quick enough.

“What are you _doing?_ ” said Anthony, trying to suppress laughter.

“Horsing around,” said Ezra, flicking it at him three times in quick succession.

“Give me that.”

“No.”

“Give me—”  Anthony moved towards him, trying to pry the towel away from him, and he laughed, pushing Anthony back.

There was a crash. Anthony froze, looked down, saw the plate from the counter on the ground, in pieces.

“Oh,” said Ezra.

Anthony was staring at the plate like it was a bomb.  Ezra had never seen his face host such an intense expression of fear.  “I broke it.”

Ezra knelt down, tilting the biggest piece upwards.  “I’m afraid so.”

“We—we can glue it back together.  They won’t notice.”

Ezra stood, the pieces stacked on top of one another in his hands.  “That’s probably not a good idea.  It might come apart when it’s washed.”

“We—we—”  Anthony’s nostrils were flaring.  It was obvious that his fight-or-flight response was kicking in.  “We can hide it.  They won’t notice it’s gone.”

“Anthony _,_ ” said the larger boy, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t tell them I broke it,” he burst out.  “They—I—They’re going to—”

“ _Anthony!_  It’s okay.”

He swallowed.  “They’re going to be really mad at me.”

“Goodness,” said Ezra. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s just a plate.”

Anthony looked mournfully at the pieces.  “I know, but…”

Ezra planted a small kiss on top of his head.  “It’s okay.”

Anthony still looked doubtful.  Ezra put the pieces on the table.  “Come on. Let’s go work on our homework.”

Anthony’s pencil dragged meaninglessly across his notebook, making anxious spirals and jagged stars instead of words.

Ezra gave him a little kick under the table.  “Anthony.”

He did not look up.

“I told you it was fine. Stop thinking about it.  This is due tomorrow.”

“Ezra!” said a voice from downstairs, keys jingling as the new arrival mounted the stairs.  Anthony tensed visibly as the footsteps grew louder towards the door.

Mrs. Fell’s head appeared in the doorway, her mass of curly hair hanging loosely about her.  “Ezra, what happened to that plate on the table?”

Anthony was a deathly pale, and would not look away from his notebook.  “I’m sorry about that,” said Ezra.  “We dropped it while we were drying the dishes earlier.”

Mrs. Fell made a pouting face.  “Oh… Shame, though, it was such a nice set.”  Her head disappeared.

Anthony was looking at the place where she had been in absolute amazement.  Ezra reached over and patted his hand.  “See?  I told you it would be okay.”

Anthony’s scratches and doodles turned into the first paragraph of an essay, then.

* * *

“Julia!”

The voice was his Dad’s; Ezra heard him calling his mother’s name all the way up in his bedroom. There was the sound of rough footsteps elsewhere in the house, then again: “Julia!”

“What?” said Mrs. Fell’s voice in reply.

“Come here.  I’ve just found something out.”

“I’m sorry,” said a third voice, small, pained, and Ezra felt alarm prickle on his skin, and he bolted from his room immediately towards the disturbance.

He descended the staircase so fast he nearly fell down it, then saw in the living room what he had feared he might see:  Mr. Fell had Anthony by the arm, dragging him out of the dining room.  His mother emerged from the kitchen.

“What’s the matter?” said Mrs. Fell, noting the grip Mr. Fell had on Anthony’s arm.

“You know how money has been going missing from your purse?” said Mr. Fell.  “Well, guess who I just caught rifling through it.”

“You _didn’t_ ,” said Ezra with growing horror.

Anthony looked from Ezra, still on the staircase, to Mr. Fell, glowering at him, to Mrs. Fell, who looked extremely disappointed.

 _This is it,_ was what Anthony was thinking.  He had just ruined it.  Things had been starting to get better for once in his entire life, and he had screwed it up.  He had nothing to say for himself.  He hated himself, even more so than he imagined the Fells hated him, and hung his head miserably.

“Is this true?” said Mrs. Fell.

Anthony nodded slowly. He dared not look at what expression Ezra had on his face.

“You know we can’t tolerate this,” said Mr. Fell.

Anthony remained silent.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” said Mrs. Fell, anger flaring.  “I thought you were a nice boy, Anthony, that’s why we let you in the house.”

He shook his head.

“ _At least_ tell me you weren’t buying drugs with it,” said Mr. Fell.

“I…I just needed lunch money,” he stammered.

Mrs. Fell knew how much a school lunch cost, and she was doing some mental math, and when she arrived at the logical frequency with which Anthony must have been eating, her anger turned to pity.

Mr. Fell let go of his arm. “Honey…” said Mrs. Fell.  “If you needed money for lunch, you should have just asked. Did your parents not give you lunch money when you asked for it?”

Anthony dared not answer. He distrusted the sudden softness with which he was being treated.

“We can give you money for that,” said Mrs. Fell.  “Goodness. It’s not that much.  We can give it to you.  Don’t _steal_ it.”

“R…right…”

“You mustn’t steal, got it?” said Mr. Fell.  “Especially from someone who is doing you a favor.  Honestly.  I thought that would have been common sense.  You need to be punished.”

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

“Let’s see…grounded for two weeks.  No, three weeks.”

“G-grounded?” stuttered Anthony, astonished.

Mr. Fell puffed out.  “Of course.  If you can’t take the punishment then don’t do the crime, got it?”

Mr. Fell had missed the reason why Anthony had sounded so surprised.  Anthony did not think the punishment was unfair; rather, the concept of grounding as a punishment was so foreign to him that it had never occurred to him that it might happen to him.

Mr. Fell sternly told him the conditions of his grounding: no TV, in bed by 9:30, no going out after he got home from school….

Anthony was still struggling to process what was happening.  “You aren’t going to hit me?” he said, and immediately regretted it, picturing Mr. Fell saying _Oh, yeah, that too, thanks for reminding me_ , and Mr. Fell was significantly larger than his own father, and had bigger fists.

Instead, Mr. Fell crossed his arms.  “Goodness, no!”

One of the terms of his grounding was that now he had to pack lunch for both himself and Ezra on a daily basis.  Secretly, Anthony did not think this was much of a punishment.  He liked watching Ezra eat.  He packed Ezra a bigger lunch than what he packed for himself, because Ezra was bigger than him and needed more food, but also because it meant Anthony finished his meal first and could sit and watch Ezra enjoying himself.  He liked seeing Ezra happy, especially because of something Anthony had put together, and that’s why he pretended not to notice when he was un-grounded, and continued packing both their lunches well into the school year.


	5. What's cooking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is getting the same warning for strong/homophobic language and domestic abuse elements that chapter 2 got.  
> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/134099975615/ah-i-had-a-moment-of-spare-time-so-here-i

  


“What are you making?”

Mrs. Fell, licking sauce off her finger, turned to see Anthony lingering in the doorway of the kitchen.  “Just some chicken parmigiana,” she answered.  “We’ve been getting takeout too much recently.”

Anthony padded into the kitchen cautiously, peering into the pot where the noodles were boiling.  “Can I help?”

Mrs. Fell made a small, delighted sound.  “Of course you can—here, you can stir the sauce.”

Anthony took the ladle as Mrs. Fell slid the garlic bread into the oven.  He was thinking about his siblings, and whether they were getting enough to eat.  For a period of time, when Anthony had first realized that none of the children in his household were going to be fed regularly unless they took matters into their own hands, he had gone out of his way to buy, steal, and beg to get food for his younger brother and sister.  But then he they had started to say the same things to him that his parents said, and he got tired of going hungry so people who didn’t appreciate his efforts could eat, and it was no longer worth the extra trouble he got in, so he stopped, and they had had to fend for themselves.  He wasn’t sure how they had been doing—last time he had been back at his own house, they had looked as malnourished as he felt living there, but he knew nobody would let them starve and make a situation serious enough that authorities might take notice.

He was looking down into the vat of red, bubbling semisolid and remembering the last time he had cooked a meal for everyone in his house, and thinking how he might like to try it in a house where people might actually thank him for doing so.

* * *

               “Hey, Ezra.”

               The hot wind of the bus pulling away whipped at Ezra’s curly hair as he turned towards Anthony.  “Yes?”

               “Did you still want…to hold hands?  Like you said earlier?”

               A lopsided smile imposed itself on the larger boy’s face.  “Of course, my dear.” 

               Their hands, gloved against the cold, entwined together with fingers interlocking as they crossed the pavement towards the school. Anthony hadn’t been this happy since….well, the last time they had held hands, to be honest.  But he felt like he was in his own personal bubble of euphoria as they reached the door to the school.

               It shattered a moment later when he heard a girl’s voice behind him, “I knew they were fags.”

               Anthony felt like his feet were suddenly magnetized to the pavement, his spine rigid.  Ezra tried to pull him through the doorframe, then turned back.  “What a rude thing to say.   But let’s just ignore it.”

               Anthony’s body was at the school, frozen in the doorway, but his mind, his eyes were far away, at his home, with his father and his mother.

                _Oh, you finally passed algebra?  Whose cock did you have to suck to make that happen, you little faggot?_

_Your father might be an abusive prick, but at least he’s not a poncy little faggot like you._

_I saw the way you were looking at that boy just now.  Don’t be such a faggot, if you know what’s good for you._

_If I ever find out you actually_ are _a worthless fag, I’ll kill you, understand?_

“Anthony?” said Ezra, tugging on his sleeve.  “It’s okay, don’t worry about them.”

               But it wasn’t okay, because now all he could think about was Ezra having the same abuse heaped on him that Anthony was used to, his perfect Ezra, being subjected to that, and it _wasn’t_ okay. 

               “Let’s just go to class.”

               Anthony was one of those high school boys who go to class with only a pencil.  The pencil was in his pocket right now.  The pencil came out of his pocket, into his fist, and into the neck of the girl who had spoken.

* * *

               The teachers had almost stopped punishing him for getting into fights by now, although that might have been because he and his antagonists had mostly moved their confrontations to outside of school hours for convenience.  He had never gotten into a fight with a girl before, though, and he’d especially never done it with her boyfriend standing right next to her and looking for an excuse to reaffirm his masculinity after seeing two boys walk in front of him holding hands. 

               Surprisingly, Anthony coming home with a black eye was one of the few things his father usually didn’t get angry about.  He supposed that, maybe, physical violence around Anthony’s person was seen as just the natural order of things.  He wasn’t sure how Mr. and Mrs. Fell would react to it, though, or to the out of school suspension he had earned.

               They were hardly through the door when Mr. Fell demanded to know what happened.

               “I got into a fight,” said Anthony, slipping the form out of his backpack.

               Mr. Fell’s nostrils flared.  “Tell me you didn’t throw the first punch.”

               Anthony bit his tongue.

               “Dad,” said Ezra, interjecting himself delicately. “He was reacting to someone who was being rude to me.”

               “It doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Fell.  “That doesn’t justify physical violence.”  He took the form, scanned the description that had been written of the incident, his face darkening.

               “What does it matter?” said Anthony.  “I’m the one who got punched, it doesn’t affect you at all.” 

               “ _What_ is that supposed to mean?” said Mr. Fell.

               Anthony refused to meet his eyes, and shrugged.

               “This isn’t acceptable, Anthony.  If this is how you’re going to react to others at school, you need some sort of counseling.”

               Anthony felt his brows furrow.  “I don’t need _counseling._ ”

               “It’s obvious you do.”

               “I’m not going to sit there and listen to some prick with a PhD tell me everything that’s wrong with me!”

               “Anthony,” said Mr. Fell, anger mounting in his voice.

               Anthony lashed out and kicked a nearby chair, sending it clattering against the wall.  Almost immediately, Mr. Fell’s hand clamped around his arm, and fear and regret surged through him.

               “You will _not_ do that again,” said Mr. Fell.  There was no _or else_.  It was a simple statement.

               Anthony, feeling his face turning white, nodded.

               Mr. Fell released him.  “We’ll talk more about this later.  Go do your homework and go to bed.”

               They made their way upstairs.  “Come here, we should talk,” said Ezra, pulling him into his room.

               Anthony struggled to find something to do with his hands as Ezra shut the door; eventually he settled for clasping them in front of him.

               “I won’t be with someone who’s physically violent,” said Ezra.  “I hope you know that, Anthony.”

               “I’m sorry, Ezra, I’m so sorry.  I fucked up, I know that, please give me another chance, I’m so sorry, I won’t do it again…”

               Ezra let out a sigh, then stepped forwards and tilted Anthony’s head up to make eye contact.  “I’ll forgive you, as long as you mean it, Anthony.  I’m serious.”

               “So am I.”

               Ezra allowed a smile to creep up onto his face, then, and he moved his hands to Anthony’s shoulders.  “Okay, then.”  And he leaned forwards and gave him a gentle kiss on the bruise he had collected trying to protect the larger boy.

* * *

               Here’s an interesting bit of maths homework:  Out of school suspension + being grounded = stuck in the house all day.  Anthony dared not try to bend the terms of his grounding, not after what had happened, so he wished Ezra a good day at school, and closed the door behind him. Mr. and Mrs. Fell left shortly after that, and Anthony sat on the couch in the living room in semidarkness, in front of the TV, which was not on, because he was grounded, and knew that somehow someone would know he had cheated even though he was home alone.

               He stopped twiddling his thumbs and crept into the kitchen.  He stared into the cupboards for a while, much too long, anxiety and conflicting desires mounting within him.  Finally, he walked over to the freezer and pulled something out, putting it in a bowl of warm water to defrost, and left it there.

               When Mrs. Fell got home, there was an aroma of roasting meat floating through the house.  She dropped her coat on a chair as she came in.  “Good heavens, what are you cooking?”

               Anthony peeked out from the kitchen, looking sheepish. “Erm….I’m cooking that ground beef that was in the freezer, I hope that was okay….”

               Mrs. Fell looked at the living room, befuddled. “Did you clean in here?”

               “Yes, I meant to clean the dining room too, but I’ll get to that tomorrow…”

               She entered the kitchen, her hands on her hips, looking him up and down.  He clutched the ladle nervously.

               “You should get suspended more often,” she said, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair.  “I’ll finish this.  Go work on your college applications.”

               Anthony scuttled off, and Mrs. Fell looked at what he had been cooking, and decided it was salvageable if she added enough garlic. Everyone told Anthony what a good cook he was, and his face flushed almost as red as the sauce.

* * *

               “I’m not taking these.”

               Ezra pulled him closer, and the bottle of pills disappeared as his hands swallowed Anthony’s.  “And why not?”

               The counselor had spent ten minutes talking to Anthony before writing him a prescription for sertraline so fast his pen almost broke the speed limit.  “It’s just going to make me numb and stupid.”

               Ezra pressed their foreheads together, but the sulking expression remained on Anthony’s face.  “I don’t know about that.  It seemed to help me feel better when I started taking it.”

               Anthony stared at him, incredulous.  “ _You?_ ”

               Ezra made a small _mm-hmm._

               Anthony leaned into Ezra, the pills rattling in the bottle as he turned it.  Then, he popped one into his mouth, and reached for the glass of water on the nearby table, and felt like maybe he could really let himself believe things actually were going to get better.


	6. Can I Come In?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/135484210850/for-the-record-i-am-not-longer-even-attempting-to

Curiously, one of Anthony’s earliest memories of his father is a moment where he was being extraordinarily kind.

Anthony was crying, the covers pulled up to his head.  His siblings hadn’t been born yet, so he was alone in the room, and it felt like the darkness was going to swallow him up, and he was so scared of everything, and he didn’t understand why.

The light flicked on, and his father was standing there in his bathrobe, looking at him in a muddled way. Anthony tried to stifle his weeping, hastily wiping his eyes.

The bed dipped as his father sat down on it, and Anthony fell into him.

“What’s wrong?”

Anthony shook his head.

Mr. Crowley’s tired face twisted in bemusement.  He leaned over the bed and unhooked the toy chest, retrieving a large stuffed bear. He plopped it into Anthony’s lap; the teddy bear was almost as large as the child was at this point, and he took Anthony’s tiny arms and wrapped them purposefully around the toy.

He put his hand on Anthony’s head, softly, and said, “Look at me.”

Anthony did.  His eyes were red and wet, but he did not turn away.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” his father said, stroking the nape of his neck.  “I’ve never seen anyone with golden eyes before.  You know why you have golden eyes, Anthony? Because you’re a treasure, and treasure is gold.”

He put his hands back on Anthony’s arms around the bear.  “You just remember that.  And if you ever find yourself feeling like it’s not true, squeeze this teddy bear, and tell yourself that you are a treasure.  Do you understand?”

Anthony couldn’t remember what had happened to that bear.  The truth was that his father had destroyed it during one of his tantrums where he went through Anthony’s belongings, but Anthony had the good fortune to have lost such an unpleasant memory in the dregs of his subconscious.

  


* * *

  


“Have you applied for any colleges yet?”

Anthony wiped the barbeque sauce off his hands and left Mrs. Fell in the kitchen.  “Yeah, I’ve applied to most of the ones that Ezra has.”

Mr. Fell looked at him over his glasses, tact preventing him from saying his opinion on his chances of being accepted.  Instead, he said, “Well, remember to have a fallback option, young man.”

Anthony nodded.

“Is Ezra still doing homework?”

“I think so.  He said he didn’t want to quit until he had gotten it right.”

“That’s my boy.  Not a quitter, that one.  Well, it looks like Julie’s got dinner, so why don’t you go join him until it’s ready?  I’m sure you could use a bit of extra studying.” 

“Of course.”  He might have been offended, but he mounted the stairs without complaint.  He stopped to pick up his notebook and a pencil before going to Ezra’s room.

His door was closed, and faint sounds were audible from inside.  He tapped lightly on the door.  “Erm…Ezra, can I come in?”

“No!” said Ezra’s voice, warbling, and Anthony physically recoiled.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.  Don’t come in.”

“Ezra, you-“

“Leave me alone!”

He could hear Ezra sobbing, but strangulated, as though he were trying to hide it.  Anthony stared at the doorknob, his fingers playing over it, torn mightily.

“Ezra, please, what’s wrong?”

When he got no response, he pushed the door open and slid in, shutting it behind him.

Ezra was at his desk, and his face was incredibly red, and his eyes were puffy, and streams gleamed on his cheeks where tears had rolled down them.

“What’s wrong?”

Ezra’s face scrunched up, and he hid himself in his hands.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Please….”

Ezra snorted, wiped his nose.  “I cleared my desk, I cleared it, but the bad feeling won’t stop…”

Anthony’s eyes fell to his desk, which was empty.  He knew what Ezra had done; it was something he had seen him do many times during studying. He would randomly snap his book shut and move everything to the floor; sometimes he would start trying to help Anthony instead.

“What’s happening? Please tell me, Ezra.”

“I was working on my college applications…”

Anthony moved into the room, stood by the chair.  “And?”

“Well…What if I don’t get accepted?  What if my grades aren’t good enough, what if I fail out, what if I blow it…everyone says I can do it, they expect so much of me, Anthony, I don’t know if I can do it.”

“Of course you can do it.”

“No, I can’t, I _can’t,_ everyone thinks I’m great and awesome but I’m worthless!  I can’t do even the most basic things on my own!  And then I cry about it!  It’s pathetic!”

Anthony understood, then. He could see the anxiety building in Ezra’s features as he got increasingly frustrated, until he finally did the only thing he could do to make it stop: quit, and clear his desk as though to clear his mind.  And Ezra had been hiding this whole time what was really happening when he did that, to the point Anthony did not realize why Ezra might need medication, as though Ezra did not want him to know what a hard time he was having.  And now the bad feelings had spilled over, and they wouldn’t go away.

Ezra squeezed his eyes shut as Anthony put his hands on his shoulders.  “Look at me.”

The larger boy did not comply; he kept his face turned down and away.

Anthony slid himself onto Ezra, touched their foreheads together, and took his Ezra’s arms, and wrapped them around himself.  He sat like that, filling his lap, and said, “Squeeze.”

He felt the pressure on his ribs as Ezra’s arms tightened around him, and his shirt dampen with tears as Ezra buried his face in it.

Another squeeze. Another.

“Is that a little better?”

A small nod from Ezra.

“You are a treasure,” said Anthony, running his fingers through Ezra’s hair.

“Dinner’s ready,” said Mr. Fell’s voice suddenly through the door, and Anthony removed himself from Ezra’s lap with such speed that he thumped to the floor.  “Okay, we’ll be down in a second!”

Ezra had a sad smile on his face as he dusted himself off.  “Erm,” said Anthony.  “Listen. You don’t have to be the best, okay? It’s okay if you get a B or get into your second choice of college.  You’re brilliant, and no one will be disappointed in you, no matter what happens. Okay?”

“Okay,” said Ezra, hiccupping.  He held his arms out.  “May I squeeze you one more time?”

Anthony wondered what else Ezra might have been hiding from him as he let himself be squished.

* * *

Ezra’s clock was bright in the darkness, but not enough to illuminate all the way to the bed.  So Ezra went on instinct as to what was happening.

The bed dipped slightly, a weight appeared at his side, a second pair of lungs breathing in the darkness. A faint brushing against his pajamas, as though someone were afraid to get too close.  A shiver, as though someone were afraid to pull any of the blankets onto themselves.

Ezra lifted the duvet, gently pulled it forwards, found a weight there, wrapped it close to himself, fell asleep with his face buried in something soft, the scent of Anthony’s hair filling his nose.

* * *

He woke to a quick motion, a door opening.  He flailed in the darkness, found himself alone in bed once more.  He stumbled across the room and to find the light switch.

He heard water running in the bathroom nearby, and padded out the hallway, rubbing his eyes against the sudden light, knocking on the bathroom door.  “Anthony?”

“Ezra, I-”

“Is everything all right?”

“I- I-”

“Can I come in?”

Ezra peeked in as the door cracked open.  “What happened?”

Anthony moved his hand to his crotch, blushed vividly.  “I- I- I had a dream, and-  I’m sorry, you must think I’m disgusting.”

At first Ezra thought he meant he had wet the bed, but when the realization of the truth hit him, he put his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.

“I’m _sorry,_ I didn’t do it on purpose, we—we’re in the same _bed_ , I mean—I just can’t sleep well by myself—Ezra, I’m sorry-”

He stopped at the hand on his shoulder.  “It’s okay.”

Anthony’s face was still red.  “I-I’m fucking gross.”

“ _Anthony._ ”

“I know your parents must be thinking it, too, Ezra, what are they going to do when they find out about— _us?_  They’re going to see how I’m disgusting, and an abomination, and probably think I corrupted you.”

“They already know.”

Anthony’s golden eyes were wide.  “Wh-what?”

“Dear, what did you _think_ they were going suppose when they saw us holding hands?  I told them when they asked, and they’re fine with it.  Who told you you were disgusting?”

Ezra regretted this last part as soon as it came out of his mouth, because he already knew the answer, but Anthony did not bother with it, and just looked down.  “They’re really okay with it?  But they’re religious.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“I don’t know…I just thought…”

Ezra grabbed his arm, rubbed his hand in gentle circles.  “Anthony, you don’t have to sneak into my room if you want to sleep in there.  You’re important to me, and I want you close by, if that’s what you want.  Is it?”

“Y-yes.”

Now Ezra clamped his hand on Anthony’s.  “Okay, then. Why don’t you change your underwear, and then we’ll go back to sleep, hm?”

They settled into bed, distributing the covers in the light for once, and then turned the lights off, drifting off wrapped in each other’s arms.


	7. Prom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m putting a trigger warning for rape on this chapter because even though there’s no rape in it there’s something that might be kind of intense to read in a similar way for sensitive readers, so just go in prepared my friends, better safe than sorry, thank you,
> 
> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/135810479050/knocks-on-the-door-to-the-good-omens-fandom

“Oh my, are you quite all right?”

Anthony was practically vibrating as Ezra joined him at the table in the library; as soon as the larger boy sat down, Anthony thrust a piece of paper at him.

“What’s this?”

“My report card.”

The paper wrinkled as Ezra took it.  “Oh _my_ , you got—”

“Straight A’s!” Anthony was beaming the widest Ezra had ever seen him.

Ezra wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze as Anthony looked down, blushing. “I’m very proud of you.  Good job.”

“Y-yeah,” said Anthony, a lopsided grin overtaking his face.  Someone at an adjacent table sniggered and muttered something very rude, but Anthony admirably ignored them.  “A-anyway, didn’t you come here to work on a project?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ezra.

They both began to move among the books in the library.  Ezra returned with a stack of books about ancient Greece.  Anthony held a volume of manga, and before Ezra could say anything he hastily offered that he had already finished his homework.

Ezra spread himself out over the table, flipping books open and beginning to scribble out his essay. Anthony planted his comic book over an illustration of the Colosseum.  They sat in silence for a few minutes before Anthony walked his fingers over to one of Ezra’s notebooks and slid it over to himself.  Ezra watched him out of the corner of his eye as he took a pen and scribbled something, then pushed it back over.

_Will you go to prom with me?_

_Yes                         No_

 

* * *

There was, initially, a lot of doubt about whether or not Anthony would be allowed to go to prom at all. He had, after all, been suspended recently and had a reputation for bad behavior.  The fact that he had recently* improved tremendously went unnoticed by most of the administration, who had a sense of his existence only from seeing disciplinary records and report cards and occasionally his person in the hall looking rather shady, and most of whom still were holding in mind the incident where he had snapped on one of his female classmates with no apparent provocation. Most of them did not know he had been going to therapy and taking medication and was making significant progress, so it was only natural to them to assume that allowing him to an event like prom would be inviting trouble, and most of them had been secretly hoping he would simply not show interest in going and so avoid the issue entirely. So when he left the library with Ezra in one hand and a note with _Yes_ circled in the other, it threw a considerable problem at the authorities at the school.

*Since beginning the peer mentoring program, in fact.

They made a blanket ban on prom attendance for any student that had had more than three days’ of out-of-school suspension in the past 9-week period.  This, conveniently, was only Anthony and a student named Dagon who had been absent so much that he probably didn’t even know prom was happening.

Ezra, upon hearing this, nodded gnomically, chewed his lip, and then began to complain rather loudly, and especially within the earshot of the math and science teachers, that if he didn’t get to go to prom with his sweetheart, why, he’d probably be too heartbroken to participate in the engineering competition, and Science Olympiad would definitely be out, too.  It was a shame, even though Ezra was the reason they had won gold the past three years straight, they would just have to get someone else to take his place, and he probably wouldn’t be in the mood to study for the academic standardized exams the school relied on stellar students’ grades for funding, either, he would just be _that_ heartbroken if he wasn’t allowed….

The administration conferred immediately and Anthony’s disciplinary record suddenly was an issue that could be overlooked, if need be, but that still left them with one problem: Many parents in the area had previously throw tantrums at the sight of same-sex dates to prom, and this was something they could not disregard others’ opinions on, because prom was mostly run by parent volunteers and it would be disastrous if they decided to quit, especially this close to the event.

It was at this point in the meeting that the social studies teacher raised his hand from the back of the room and reminded everyone, quietly, that Ezra’s mother was the one leading the chaperones this year. Everyone who had dealt with Mrs. Fell in the past immediately went stark white, remembering an incident earlier in the year in which Ezra had come under ridicule from his peers because of his size and Mrs. Fell had intruded on the school board like a merciless hyena and single-handedly forced the revision of the school’s ineffectual anti-bullying policy. It was eventually decided that, well, it was the twenty-first century and they were progressive and compassionate enough to allow all students basic human decency.**

**They figured that they might as well get some brownie points if they were going to be strong-armed into being kind.

* * *

 

“You look very nice in a suit.”

Anthony flushed, reached out, straightened Ezra’s bowtie.  “Not as good as you.”

They linked hands, opened the doors to the ballroom.  Everything was already in full swing, figures in delicate dresses and smooth suits cluttering the floor.  Ezra waved to Mrs. Fell across the room, who acknowledged him briefly before getting back to whatever task she had been preoccupied with.

They made their way onto the dancefloor immediately; it looked tremendous fun.  Any rude comments any of their classmates might have tried to make were lost in the boom of the music and the swarm of bodies.  They both found themselves dancing with kids that had previously been antagonistic towards them, and everything seemed so much more lively and welcoming and friendly than before, as though there were something in the atmosphere soaking them.

Ezra, sweating and out of breath but desperately trying not to let it show, caught up to Anthony by the refreshments, hovering around the lemonade.

“Are you having fun?”

Anthony nodded, slurping his lemonade.  He offered Ezra a glass, and they both took some cannoli as well before heading back onto the floor.

After a while, Ezra found himself panting a bit too much, and took a seat at the edge of the room, resting his feet.  Anthony caught up with him soon, taking a seat next to him, wiping his sweaty forehead.

Ezra stared at Anthony’s face as he dabbed at his forehead, golden eyes going haywire reflecting a collage of rainbow squares from the multicolored lights from the ceiling. Anthony had one hand on Ezra’s wrist, looking slightly down and away from him, his chest heaving in and out, an energetic grin on his face despite that his body looked like it had been drained of all vigor from the dance.  Ezra felt his own smile growing despite himself, and he wanted to say something, even if it meant shouting to be heard over the music, but he could think of nothing to say.

Anthony filled the gap. “I didn’t think I would get to go to any of the dances.  This is great.”

Ezra pictured younger Anthony being told he would never get to experience anything like this, being told that his very desire to have something like this was wrong.  And Ezra had never seemed to show much interest in either girls or boys before he had grown close with Anthony.  He wasn’t sure what he would have done.  He imagined himself going to prom with some girl he had half-heartedly asked out for the sake of having a date while Anthony stayed home miserable and alone.  Or worse, with his father.  The reality was so much more appealing he was almost overcome with emotion.

He settled for looking out on the dancefloor, where everyone seemed to have been getting gradually more and more wild.  “Everyone seems like they’re having a good time.”

“Ezra,” said Anthony, looking at him intensely.

Ezra’s heart began to pick up its pace as he felt those golden eyes on him.  “Yes, what is it?”

Anthony beckoned him closer, tilting towards him.  Ezra complied, leaning in, not sure what to expect.

Anthony’s breath tickled his ear.  “That’s because I spiked the punch.”

“You _what?_ ” spluttered Ezra.

“Just a little bit.”

“ _Anthony_.”

“Not even enough to get anyone fully drunk.”

There was an amused glint in Anthony’s eye and a wicked smile on his face.  Ezra wanted to angry.  He knew he _should_ be angry.  But he had never seen that glint of mischief in Anthony’s eyes.  There had always been a shroud of despair, desperation, exhaustion there instead. And it was finally gone.  Anthony had been too submerged in the murk of fighting for his basic needs and to feel anything positive at all, that he had never had room for anything like this before, this mostly harmless troublemaking that everyone would find funny later, but that would exasperate those in charge, just for fun.

He could not force himself to be appropriately angry about it like he once would have.  Instead, he put his arms around Anthony’s shoulders, drew, him close, and began to laugh, great big movements of his chest, silent as the muted sounds of his suppressed guffaws were eaten by the loud music. “Of course you did.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No, I suppose not. The chaperones can handle it, I’m sure.”

Anthony was laughing too, now, and they both just sat there, holding each other, giggling.

Ezra felt Anthony’s lips on his neck, a gentle suggestion.

“Would you like to perhaps go home a bit early?” said Ezra.  We’ve stayed for a good while, and we could bail out before they figure out what’s in the punch.”

Anthony nodded.  Ezra took his hand, led him away from the chairs.

They were caught on the way back by a change of music.  One of the chaperones perhaps thought it might be a good idea to change to something else to try and calm everyone down, and liked classic music, so the opening notes of Queen’s “Somebody to Love” replaced the electronic dance music, to a few disappointed groans from the bodies on the dancefloor.

Ezra was not disappointed. He grabbed both of Anthony’s hands and pulled him back onto the dance floor.  When the song got to a particularly quiet portion, everyone seemed to have calmed down a little bit, and Ezra put his hands on Anthony’s waist. Anthony rested his head against Ezra’s shoulder, and they stayed like that for a while, swaying, just being together.

Then the moment was over, and Ezra managed to communicate to his mother that they were going home a bit early, and she told them to be careful walking home.

They were careful, more careful than the students at the dance, in fact.  One of the chaperones eventually recognized what was in the lemonade, and half the parents there furiously vowed they would see to it that whoever was responsible was expelled.  Some, in fact, knew in their hearts that it had been Anthony, but in the absence of any solid proof, the culprit went unpunished, and the only real consequence was the chaperones being overwhelmed and having to stay a bit later and deal with extra-unruly teenagers.

* * *

It was surprisingly warm for this time of the year, and the stars were bright against the dark sky as they walked hand-in-hand.  Their dress shoes were rather uncomfortable, but the venue was fairly close to the school and it was a small matter of walking down the main street to reach home.

It was quiet, the grass and gravel crunching under their feet.  The streetlights glowed on them softly.  A car passed them, slowed down, then continued as normal.  Ezra unfastened his tie.

“I love you, Ezra,” said Anthony, and he felt Ezra’s grip tighten on his hand.

They stopped under a streetlight, everything empty, peaceful, the only sound the buzzing of the light.  Ezra turned to the other boy, rubbed his hands like he had done so many times before, smiled, looked him in the eyes.  “I love _you._ ”

Anthony felt himself flushing and heating up helplessly as Ezra pushed against him, moving to lean against the post, his lips touching down onto his.  He let himself be held as Ezra’s hands moved down Anthony’s back, pulling him tighter.  He kept his hands on Ezra’s chest as they hugged tightly, his fingers grasping at his jacket.

The kiss ended, and Ezra pulled him in all the way so that he was squished against the larger boy, who put his chin on his head.

Anthony wanted to cry. He never in a million years imagined that anything this good could ever happen to him.  He felt like he had a halo of happiness radiating off of him.

“Would you like to go home now?” said Ezra, drawing him away.

He nodded.

“Would you like to do some more of…that?”

“Your parents aren’t home.”

“Dad’s out of town and Mom’s going to be overseeing the prom until…good grief, who knows when she’ll be back.”

“Some more of…that.”

“You know,” said Ezra, brushing hair out of Anthony’s eyes.  “ _That_.  If you want to.”

He nodded, more vigorously this time.

The jangling of the keys seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness, and after shutting the door quietly behind them they padded upstairs, shedding jackets and ties and suitcoats the whole way, whispering sweet phrases of no real substance to each other.

Anthony sat on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt.  Ezra moved onto him, planting kisses one right after the other, pushing him back into the sheets.  Anthony went limp, letting Ezra climb on top of him, his eyes sliding closed as he felt the larger boy’s lips on his cheeks, his jaw.

Ezra’s hands came up and pinned Anthony’s wrists to the pillows.

Antony’s eyes flew open, his body going rigid under Ezra’s touch, echoes of a memory exploding into his mind.

_“Where do you think you’re going?”_

_“Does it matter?  You kicked me out.”_

_His father staggered into his room, forcing Anthony away from the bed, where he had been stuffing his wardrobe into a duffel bag.  “I did, so how come you’re_ here?”

_“I just wanted to get my stuff.”_

_“You have some nerve, you little bitch.”_

_Anthony’s back was against the wall, now, his father leaning over him menacingly, and Anthony became consumed with thoughts of flight, electric terror pushing all ideas of his belongings from his mind._

_“I-I want to leave now.”_

_“Who told you it matters what you want?” said his father, slamming him, his arms pinned to the wall._

Anthony whimpered, because darkness came after this, darkness and perpetual cold and unquenchable thirst and scratching on a metal door until his fingernails bled, and he suddenly felt all the positive thoughts from the night trainwreck and pileup.  Because the thought seized him that he had not escaped after all, but had just switched who it was he was at the mercy of, because they were alone and Ezra could do anythinghe wanted to him and Anthony could do nothing about it.  And he wanted to scream that he wanted to be able to move his arms, but he lay there paralyzed, afraid of saying so in case the answer would be _Who told you it matters what you want?_

Ezra heard the faint sound, paused, and panted, “Is everything all right?”

“M…M-my…”

Ezra looked alarmed now, and withdrew.  “You don’t like that?  I’m sorry.”

Anthony sat up, trying to stop the shaking, breathing deeply.  Ezra knelt beside him, desperately fighting the urge to hold him and right the upset, but not knowing what exactly he had done and afraid he would make it worse.

“Are you okay?”

“I…I’m fine.  I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I…”  He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe slowly, felt his heartrate slowing back down.  “I just had a bad thought.  It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“I’ll make you some tea,” said Ezra, making a motion to get off the bed.

“Wait!” said Anthony, grabbing his arm, and when Ezra stopped and looked at him he continued, “Er, it’s okay…I just…”

“Surely you don’t want to keep going?”

He did.  It had felt so good.  He trusted Ezra.  He _did._  He knew Ezra wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.  He _knew_ that.  But he had never done anything like this before; the only time he had ever been physically dominated was when he was cowering under someone larger than him who _did_ want to harm him, and it didn’t _feel_ different in his gut when Ezra was on top of him even though he knew in his brain that it was.  But he wanted this, because it had felt so good having Ezra’s lips on him, and his hands running gently over his body…

The seconds ticked by as Anthony struggled to find words.  Ezra smiled and took his hand.  “What if…would you like to be on top?”

Anthony felt himself go limp, letting out a tired, strangulated laugh and leaning his head onto Ezra’s shoulder.  “On top, of course.”

“This way if you don’t like it you can just get off.”

“Of course.”

“We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Whenever you’re ready, then.”

He gave himself some time to calm back down, went back to rubbing and touching with Ezra as they had been doing before, and then Ezra lay back and patted his stomach.  Anthony crawled onto him like he was hugging a particularly warm, squishy body pillow, and Ezra’s hands combed through his hair as he lay on him.  “You’re in control here, my dear, just remember that.”

Being in control was largely a new sensation to him, and they went as far as Anthony wanted.  It felt so _good_ because he _was_ in control, and he knew Ezra would stop at the slightest sign of discomfort from him, but he never wanted it to end.


	8. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains elements of domestic abuse and strong homophobic language
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/136584156270/hello-my-friends-here-it-isthe-last-chapter

“What’s this?” said Ezra as he entered the room.

Anthony put down the spray bottle he had been using.  “I got a couple houseplants.   I thought they might…liven up the living room.  What do you think?”

Ezra smiled.  “I think they look very nice.”

Anthony beamed, then cleared his throat.  “What’s that you got there?”

Ezra held up the piece of mail in his hand.  “Letter. Hopefully an acceptance.  I thought maybe we could open it together?”

Anthony could see it was Ezra’s top choice of college, top-notch, ivy-league.  He nodded mutely.

The plastic window in the envelope crinkled as Ezra opened it.  Anthony watched as Ezra unfolded the letter excitedly.  The thrilled look on his face gradually faded as the seconds ticked by.

“Oh.”

“Didn’t get in?”

Ezra folded the letter up, stuck it back in the envelope.  “I’m afraid not.”

Anthony maneuvered himself so that he was within easy hugging distance, half leaning in towards him and ready for the upset, but Ezra smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, that’s all right,” was what he said.  “We have yet to hear back from most of the others I applied for.  I’m sure I got into one of them.”

Anthony was torn.  He wanted Ezra to get into the very best college out there, because he deserved nothing less, but at the same time Anthony knew _he_ probably wouldn’t get into any at all.  As time wore on, it looked more and more like they were going to be split up.  Anthony didn’t know if he would be able to handle that. But he wouldn’t dare hold Ezra back.

Truth be told, Anthony wouldn’t mind not going to college.  He could get some technical training and do something practical. Ezra was smart enough to be a philosopher or an engineer or a doctor or whatever he wanted, but the world would always need plumbers and electricians and Anthony felt like he would be good at something like that.  But he didn’t want to stay here.  God, he did not want to stay here.  Especially if Ezra was going off to college halfway across the country.

A pit of anxiety had been growing in his chest every time he thought about it, but he could think of no solution, so he kept quiet about it.

“Everything all right?” said Ezra, touching Anthony’s waist, and Anthony became aware he had been standing there with a worried look on his face through this whole train of thought.

“Erm…yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Sorry.  I’m sorry to hear that.  I’m sure you got into your second choice, though.”

Ezra smiled.  “You’re right,” he said, rubbing the smaller boy’s abdomen.  Ezra had noticed that Anthony had gained weight.  Not that much.  Just a little bit, so that his hip bones did not jut out like broken rocks and dig into Ezra when he tried to hug him, and that he did not feel quite as ephemeral when Ezra was feeling playful and lifted him up.  He felt healthier, and as Ezra looked at him now, not a single bruise on him in months, their fingers intertwining, their lips touching without a single troubling thought of being an abomination or unnatural, he looked happier too.

* * *

Sometimes a silly and impractical thing happens when two people care for each other, but don’t communicate as well as they should.  Person A will offer to go to an event they don’t particularly want to attend because they know Person B wants to go.  Person B secretly does not want to go either, but since Person A is obviously so enthusiastic about going, Person B decides to tough it out for their sake.  In the end, both people end up going to the event for the sake of the other, even though neither wanted to go in the first place.

Ezra was friends with a boy named Gabriel at school, or “friends” would be more accurate, since the extent of their relationship was mostly Gabriel making rude comments and then laughing them off with “Aw, come on, Ez, you know you love me!” and “Why the face?  I’m just kidding around!”  Gabriel was, for some reason, very popular among people at school, and had invited everyone to his Halloween party.

Ezra could not dislike him too much, though.  He had gone out of his way to make sure Ezra knew he was welcome to bring Anthony as his date.

“You’re coming to my Halloween party, right, sport?” Gabriel had said, making finger-guns as Ezra resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  “Make sure you bring that little fruit you’re always hanging out with.”

Okay, so….maybe Gabriel himself wasn’t the type of person Ezra would like to spend his time with. But his Halloween party was looking like it would be a big social event, and it would be easy to dodge the host in favor of better company.  Or so the line of reasoning went.

They had gotten matching Halloween costumes but now, the night of the party, minutes before they had planned to leave, were on the verge of chickening out of wearing them, goading each other into following through with it.

Ezra put on the halo. “It’s not that bad.”

Anthony eyed the plastic devil horns mournfully, turning them over in his hand.  He was saved from the rude comment building in his mouth by the sound of the doorbell.

“Will you get that, please?” sighed Ezra.  “I don’t know who it could be.”

Anthony put his costume down, made his way to the front door.  He noted someone had brought in today’s mail, but no one had gone through it yet.  He paused, leaned over, surreptitiously rifled through the stack, and saw letters from colleges addressed to both him and Ezra. He felt his breath catch in his throat. 

No, he’d better wait till after the party.  If they were rejections it’d ruin the whole mood.  He shuffled the stack back together as the doorbell rang agitatedly a few more times.

“I’m coming!” he said, pulling the front door open.

Someone was on the porch, someone Anthony did not want to see right now, someone with a contorted, angry look on their face.  It felt like all the blood was draining from his body, it felt like he had inhaled a lungful of needles, it felt like hornets were crawling around underneath his skin.

“Come out here, Anthony,” said his father.

“How-how did you find out where he lives?” said Anthony numbly.

“Open the screen door, and come out here.”

Anthony had no reason to obey, no reason except for the fact that he had been trained like a dog to obey that voice his whole life.  The hinge creaked, and as soon as the door was open wide enough Mr. Crowley seized Anthony’s arm and dragged him out, slamming him against the side of the house.

Anthony felt his eyes blow wide as he stared up at his father looming over him, felt himself shaking, felt all the progress he had made crumbling, feeling this potent reminder that he had never actually gotten away—

“I heard something very _interesting,_ Anthony.  Would you like to know what it is?”

Tears were already streaming down Anthony’s face.  He stood frozen, feeling in every bone of his body that this was an unavoidable part of who he was—

“Stop that, you little bitch, now _listen_ to me.  You remember Dave, family friend, yeah?  Well he said that the other day, he saw you and that other faggot together on the street.  In _formalwear._  Like you were on a date.”

“Don’t ruin this for me,” choked Anthony.  “Please, just this one—”

“ _Ruin?_ Anthony, what do you think everyone is going to think if they see _my_ son parading around with a boy like that— _kissing?_  You think I want everyone to know I raised a faggot?  You think I didn’t try my damnedest to make you a respectable boy, not some _cumbucket—_ ”

“S-stop…”

Mr. Crowley’s hand flew to his throat, and Anthony felt his fingers sinking into his windpipe.  “This is unnatural.  It’s wrong.  You’re _damned,_ do you understand?  Didn’t I tell you I would kill you if you did this?  Didn’t I tell you every step of the way?  I _will_ —you and that fucking poufter you somehow got to—”

“Don’t you dare!” he shrieked.  “Don’t you _dare_ touch him!”

He tried to turn away from the blow that came next, but the fist thumped solidly on his cheekbone, and his reply was cut off by the hand tightening around his neck.  “You’ve got some _nerve_ , boy—”

“ _You!_ ”

Mr. Crowley turned to see Ezra opening the screen door, a stormy expression on his face, white hot anger blazing.  “Get away from him this instant!”

The second Mr. Crowley’s hands were off Anthony, the boy darted off the porch, disappearing into the darkness of the yard beyond.

“How dare you!” crowed Ezra. “Just—how dare you!”

“How dare _I?_ ”

“A father is supposed to love his children!  And give them guidance!  And nurture them and support them!  Not—whatever it is you’re doing!”

“Who do you think you are?” snarled Mr. Crowley, beginning to lumber towards the boy.  He stopped when a figure appeared behind him, haloed by light from inside the house behind her, someone with a mass of curly hair that hung like a lion’s mane as she crossed her arms.

“Can I help you, sir?” said Mrs. Fell tightly, crossing her arms.  “And I suggest you think _very_ carefully about your answer.”

Mr. Crowley looked up at this enormous woman—and was completely at a loss for words.

“Did I hear threats earlier?”

“This is between me and my son,” growled Mr. Crowley.  “It’s none of _your_ concern.”

“It is my concern, when my children are involved.”

“I want him back,” said Mr. Crowley.  “I need to teach him a lesson.  You’re getting in the way.  He’s _my_ son, not yours.”

“Really?  Could have fooled me.”

Mr. Crowley’s face was taut. The seconds ticked by.

“You have no right,” he said.  “You—you _bitch—_ ”

The threat was weaker this time, directed at someone much bigger than him, and as soon as the word left his mouth Mrs. Fell dug her nails into Ezra’s shoulder and moved him out of the way.  She took one step forwards and leaned in so that she was face-to-face with him. “You’re not the only one capable of violence, Mr. Crowley.  You would do well to remember that next time you think about going near anyone in my household.”

Mr. Crowley’s face was white.  “You wouldn’t dare do anything to me.”

“You’ll be lucky if you still have custody of any of your children when I’m through with you.  Now, get off my porch.”

He held her gaze for one heartbeat, two, three.  He turned, stomped down the stairs, rounded the bend, disappeared behind the hedges.

Mrs. Fell tossed her head, giving an angry hissing sound.  “Go get Anthony.”

Ezra dashed upstairs, got his jacket and slipped his shoes on.

It was damp and cold out, his breath making cloudy billows in the clear night air as he traversed their yard.  “Anthony?”

The only answer was the crickets.

He pulled his jacket around himself, walked past the driveway, looked both ways down the street. This was ridiculous.  How far could he have gotten in such a short amount of time?

He turned around and made his way to the back of the house, looked through the backyard.  The back gate was ajar, but there was no sign of him.

Ezra sighed, went back into the house to retrieve a light.

“Can’t you find him?” said Mrs. Fell as he came back in.

“I’m getting a torch. I think he went around back.”

Mrs. Fell shot him a worried look.  “I’ll get the car.”

As he grabbed a Maglite from the basement and made his way back outside, worrying thoughts began to build up in his mind about where Anthony might have gone. 

He couldn’t have gone that far, surely?

“Anthony?” said Ezra, cupping his hands to his mouth, and shouting at the darkness beyond their backyard. 

This was ridiculous. There was no way he had already gotten far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to hear Ezra calling him.

Of course, in the time Ezra had already been searching…it had been a few minutes…

The area out behind Ezra’s house quickly faded into unlit forest…  If he were running, it wouldn’t take long to…

“Anthony!  You stupid boy!  Come here!”

Ezra’s heart began to beat faster as he kicked leaves and branches out of his way.  Anthony was deliberately not responding to his call. That must be it.  Or what if Mr. Crowley was still out and about?  His mind instantly became consumed with thoughts of that cellar he had dragged Anthony out of, and with how much worse someone like Anthony’s father could do in a darkened place with no one around like this.

He had threatened to kill him, Ezra had heard that part on his way down.

But no, he had seen the look on his face when Mrs. Fell had told him off.  He wouldn’t stick around and try to find Anthony.  Would he…?

Anthony was just being overdramatic.  Ezra would find him curled up in a ball at the base of some tree, bawling his eyes out, and he would be okay after a few hugs, and maybe if Ezra was feeling generous he would carry the smaller boy for a while until he got tired like he sometimes did when they were horsing around.  That was it.  No need to worry.

His flashlight suddenly shined on something tall, a pair of golden eyes flaring at him in the darkness, set in a face hard with anger and hatred.

“You!” said Ezra, his rage exploding instantly at the sight of Anthony’s father.

All he could think of was the cellar, what awful things this man would do to Anthony if he found him, and how much he hated him.  His terrible, terrible anger at finding him here boiled outwards and took the form of a curse, a snarl, a cry of “Get _out_ of here!”  The light from the torch flashed and jarred in the darkness as the weight of the baton and all four D batteries inside it came bashing down on Mr. Crowley’s face.

There was a startled shriek, a crunch of bone, and the sound of feet thumping on leaves with hasty retreat.

Ezra’s hands were shaking. _Okay, so that just happened,_ he thought, wheeling around, trying to shine the light everywhere at once.

Surely, _surely_ that horrible man would just go home after being menaced by someone bigger than him and getting his nose broken?

He forced himself to breathe slowly, then resumed his search, moving forwards carefully.

“Anthony!  I’m going to fall into a ditch and break my leg at this rate! Is that what you want?”

He gritted his teeth. That stubborn boy—

“ _Anthony!_ ”

“Ezra?” said a voice, faint and miserable.

“Anthony, yes, I’m here!” he said, nearly tripping over himself to find the source.  “Where are you?”

“Here…”

“Come here.”

“I…can’t.”

Ezra huffed as he stepped over logs and ducked under tree branches, closing in.  “Of course you can.  Stop being so melodramatic—”

“I _can’t_ ,” wailed Anthony’s voice, and Ezra silently picked up his pace.

He pulled up just short on the lip of a ditch, the sharp ravine-like walls sloping down none too gently. He flashed the torch down into it and saw a face peer up at him from below, then turn away from the sudden light.

“ _Anthony_ —okay, can you climb up out of there?  It doesn’t look _too_ steep—I can get part of the way down and grab your—”

“I can’t move my leg,” came a sob, and alarm prickled on Ezra’s neck.

“All right.  Just stay where you are.  I’m going to find a way down there.”

Ezra jogged along the edge of the pit until he found a place where the slope was a bit softer, slid down carefully, worked his way back.

He found Anthony sitting sullenly at the base of the wall, presumably where he had landed from falling into the abyss, tangled up in brambles like chains.  He had one leg stretched out stiffly.

“Just leave me here to die.”

Ezra sighed and pulled at his arm.  “Oh, come on, stop that.”

Anthony gave a stifled cry of pain as Ezra pulled him up.  “Can you put weight on your right leg at all?”

“No.”

“The left?”

“That one’s…okay.”

Ezra put one of the other boy’s arms around his shoulder, hauled him up, catching his weight as he hobbled forwards.

“I don’t belong with you, Ezra, I’m garbage.”

“Don’t listen to him.”

“It’s true.  He’s just saying what everyone thinks about me.”

Ezra wanted to slap him, but Anthony’s face had already been bruised today, and besides, his hands were full.  “Will you _please_ stop that?  I’m getting tired of having to correct you.”

“M-my father...”

“I met him just a few minutes ago.  Know what I did?  I broke his nose.”

Anthony was silent, but he seemed a bit mollified.

The smaller boy was panting and sweating by the time they reached the back gate again, and Ezra settled him onto the back steps before taking out his phone.

* * *

When Mrs. Fell showed up in the emergency room with a boy with a broken leg and an enormous black eye, they were careful to ask the usual battery of questions—they asked multiple people multiple times what had happened to see if the stories matched up, to see if someone was trying to pass abuse off as an accident.

Mrs. Fell told them each time, venomously, that she knew exactly what had happened, and that Children and Youth Services would already be involved, if she had her way.*

* * *

*She would.

* * *

The passenger’s seat was left empty on the car ride back, Ezra sitting in the back with Anthony, who was staring morosely at the cast on his leg.

“I can sign it when we get home,” he offered lamely.

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Ezra went to nuzzle his cheek like he had done before to comfort him, but when he did so, Anthony drew back, turning towards the window.  It would be weeks before Anthony could touch Ezra in the same way without hearing his father’s words again.  But they would get there eventually.  For now, Ezra just put his hand over his, replaying in his mind that image of the torch butt coming down on the bridge of Mr. Crowley’s nose, wishing he had hit him harder.

“I guess we missed the party,” said Anthony.

The clock on the dashboard confirmed that even for high school students, a party would be wrapping up right about now.  “There will be other parties,” said Mrs. Fell’s voice from the front seat.

Mrs. Fell was yawning when they finally pulled up in front of the house, but she dutifully helped the two boys back inside, overseeing them arrange themselves on the couch. “You two stay here.  I’ll get you something to eat.”

They sat together as the sounds came of her rummaging in the kitchen.  Ezra ran his fingers through Anthony’s hair.  “You _are_ good enough.  No matter what he says.  I hope you know that.”

He didn’t respond.

Ezra leaned on him, letting his gaze unfocus, the clattering continuing from the kitchen.  His eyes fell on the pile of mail on the table. “Hey, why don’t we open these, hm?”

The letters were to both him and Anthony, from a college that had been Ezra’s second choice, and the one college Anthony had applied to as his pie-in-the-sky, absolute-best-case-scenario, there’s-no-way-in-hell-I’ll-get-in-but-no-harm-in-trying school.  Ezra put Anthony’s on his lap, then tore his own open.

He started beaming. “I got it in!”

“Of course _you_ got in,” said Anthony, a bit sourly.  But a small smile lifted at the corners of his mouth.

“Go on, then, open yours.”

Anthony tore the envelope, unfolded the letter.  Refused to believe what he saw.

“Well?”

“I…I got in too.”

Ezra grabbed Anthony’s hand, pulled the letter towards him.  “Oh—oh my!”

“They….they were impressed with my essay…”

“And…well, would you look at that… they gave you a scholarship as well.  Hm, something about you showing great courage in the face of adverse circumstances.  Showing the most improvement in your grades out of any of the applicants.”

Anthony’s eyes were watering.  “I don’t believe it.  I got into the same school as you.”

“I told you.”

“Told me _what?_ ”

“That you could do it. That you were good enough.”

Anthony was sobbing now, the tears running over the big fat bruise on his cheek, which would be the last one he would ever have in that spot, and it was the first time he had ever cried from happiness.

So, overall, the school’s peer mentoring program was a success. 


End file.
